


Monsoon

by Adarog (RembrandtsWife)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-31
Updated: 2007-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/Adarog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain, tears, sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsoon

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from Kivrin generated this piece, set in an AU where Tara is alive but Buffy was not revived. It is followed by "Divali" and "Avatar".

The last time Giles had seen rain like this had been on a visit to India during the monsoon season. The world beyond the windowpane was an ocean of gray in which the ancient oaks and beeches of the grounds writhed like seaweed.

Tara had been standing by the window for nearly half an hour, looking out into the maelstrom without speaking. The teacup cradled in her hands had been steaming when he gave it to her; now it was not. He wondered if he should go to her, if he should speak. He was just stirring from the couch when she turned, and he saw her face.

There was no way he could not go to her, seeing his own grief on her face. She wavered just long enough to put the teacup on the sill before coming into his arms and dissolving. Giles let his own tears fall into Tara's hair while her weeping covered him like the monsoon.

Later he could not pinpoint when the clutch of her fingers across his back shifted from desperation to petition, or when his lips against her temple murmured her name in entreaty and not Buffy's in remembrance. He only remembered pulling back from her mouth--hot, sweet, and yielding--in dizzy bewilderment, ready to apologize--until she arched up against him, finger to his lips, and said, "Yes."

They went no further than the couch. Giles had built up the fire when he brought the tea; he undressed Tara piece by piece until she stood naked by the flames, proud in her very shyness. Head bowed, hands moving to cover herself, then lifting to unbutton his shirt, his own Botticelli Venus in the flesh.

She lay back on the couch and he knelt in front of her, worshipping. Lips and tongue and then hands on her breasts, until her nipples were hard as cherry pits in his mouth. Then he coaxed her hips forward and worshipped her again, head between her thighs, feasting on the ripe fruit of her cunt until her juice seemed as heavy as the monsoon.

He rubbed her clit, bringing her hips off the couch, before easing one finger cautiously inside her. Tara cooed, tensed, relaxed, and tensed again, moving with his slow rhythm, crying out when he flicked his tongue over her clit. Giles thought he might drown in the gush of her pleasure.

Tara sat up, reached for him, and kissed him. Sweetness on sweetness, her tongue tasting herself in his mouth. Then her hands drifted down to his chest, and her lips followed, wandering, kissing. He knelt straight-backed, like a man at prayer, letting her undo his belt, push away trousers and pants, and take his cock in her hand.

Giles found himself watching her face, the expression of wonder, the silent absorption in the moment, rather than her hand, moving all too gently over his prick. He would accept whatever she would give, take only that which was offered, even if he had to leave her with his own need unsatisfied.

Then she was moving him, coaxing him to lie down, eyes wide in the dim firelight. "You don't have to," he tried to say, as she draped herself over him, her thighs spanning his hips. Again she only put one finger to his lips, then began the slow work of taking him into her body.

Giles curled his hands into fists and breathed out, fighting his body's urges in order to let Tara lead. It seemed like hours went by before she settled herself on him, her buttocks against his thighs, her cunt clenched so tightly around him he thought he could feel her pulse.

He cradled her breasts and petted them, murmuring soft encouragement. Presently she began to move, rocking back and forth, and then to touch her clit, and Giles crooned, "Yes, yes."

It took a long time. She came at least once, arching her back and shuddering, her hands gripped in his. When he came, they were absolutely still, like Tantric lovers, sitting joined for hours until the very joining alone brought cosmic ecstasy.

Tara disengaged, moved away; he watched her pick up her shirt, look at it, then walk to the window, still naked. "It's stopped raining," she said.


End file.
